If I had only known, I would have been a locksmith. (Albert Einstein)

It's midnight, and I'm trying to figure out what to do next. I can't go to bed, because I've locked myself out of my bedroom.

I have no idea how it happened. This morning, when I was leaving for work, I shut my bedroom door as I have every morning since we moved into the townhouse. When I got home from work, the door wouldn't open. I must have turned the lock somehow as I grabbed the doorknob to pull it closed. Unfortunately, we don't have the key to the door. Neither does the landlord.

My first response was to try to pick the lock. But it's not as easy as it looks on TV. Despite the many books I've read in which the heroine quickly gains access with either a bobby pin or a credit card, I was unable to get the door open.

So then I tried calling a locksmith. They wanted $75 for an emergency (aka evening) call. I decided it was worth it. They told me they could be here in half an hour. One and a half hours later, I called them again. "The guy's on his way, and should be there any minute," they informed me. So I (im)patiently waited another hour and a half, then called again. This time I got a different story: "The guy tried to phone you right after you called (the first time), but since there wasn't any answer we canceled the trip." I hadn't gotten any phone calls from them (and in fact, they had written my phone number down wrong), but it didn't matter. Bottom line is, they're not coming here tonight.

So I guess I'm going to be sleeping on the guest bed tonight, in my clothes. Luckily there is a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in the dryer, so I'll have something to wear to work tomorrow. I won't have clean underwear or any make-up, but maybe no one will notice. (And to think that I was hoping to make a good impression on the state auditor that's coming in to monitor us tomorrow!)

Maybe tomorrow, in the daylight, I'll be able to find a locksmith that is actually willing to come out and open my door for me.